[Current Balance: 11,744,410,454 R]
---Previously---
Blackbeard blinked, lowering his pistol slightly, surprised the stranger knew his real na. "Thatch, is it? You know my na, do ye?" His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Then you should bloody well know it's pure folly to jump down here alone, fancy coat or no."
"Yeah, yeah, folly, I get it," Alaric waved a dismissive hand, the smoke from his cigar curling around his face. "Look, I just have one question for you, Thatch." His gaze sharpened, his blue eyes turning cold and piercing, locking onto Blackbeard's.
The boisterous pirate captain felt an involuntary jolt, a primal sense of wrongness emanating from the calm young man before him, despite the overwhelming odds.
Alaric let the silence stretch for a beat, his eyes sweeping over the tense, ard pirates surrounding him. Then, he brought the cigar back to his lips for one final, slow drag before asking, "Do you happen to know a man by the na of Edward Kenway?"
---Now---
The deck of the Sea Dog's Bite went dead quiet after Alaric's question hit the air. The only thing you could hear was the slap of waves against the hull and the groan of the brig's wood.
Blackbeard's eyes narrowed and his thick eyebrows scrunching up under his hat. Alaric's cigar smoke just hung there, like it was daring sothing to happen.
Edward Kenway... that na hit Blackbeard like a cannonball.
His mind jumped to Nassau, to the Jacobite and that jerk Abel Bramah, who'd nabbed Edward for his crew back in January.
Blackbeard's hand clenched his pistol as knuckles went pale. He couldn't stand Bramah… never could and never would. And Edward Kenway? Yeah, maybe he was a bit pissed that Edward chose that snake over him.
Edward had been learning the ropes under Blackbeard himself, picking up the pirate trade. So yeah, Blackbeard was disappointed, maybe even a little hurt, but no way was he about to spill the beans about Edward to so random stranger, especially not this cool-as-you-please fella who just dropped onto his deck uninvited.
"Who's askin'?" Blackbeard finally growled, his voice was now rough. He took a step forward as his boots thumped on the deck, and his long black coat was swirling around him. His crew moved a bit with their cutlasses shining, ready for his call.
"And why the hell are ye pokin' around after Kenway?"
Alaric didn't even tense up, just leaned back casually against the brig's railing like he owned the place. He flicked the ash from his cigar, watching the wind carry it away.
"Na's Alaric," he said smoothly and with ease, but those blue eyes of his stayed sharp, like they could see right through you. "Alaric Kenway. Edward's cousin. Haven't seen him in a couple of years, just… wonderin' how he's doin', y'know? Two years ago, he told he'd be makin' a na for himself out here."
Blackbeard's jaw tightened, his impressive beard twitching as he thought it over. Cousin? He wasn't buying it.
This Alaric character felt… off.
Too calm, too damn confident for a man surrounded by a dozen drawn blades and cocked pistols. And those eyes… they didn't just look at you, they looked into you, like they were sizing up your soul. Plus, this fella didn't much resemble Edward.
Sure, the hair was blondish, but this was bright platinum, not sun-bleached gold. And this Alaric was tall, easily matching Blackbeard's own considerable height.
He saw his crew exchanging nervous glances. They felt it too, the strange, dangerous vibe coming off this guy.
"Kenway, aye?" Blackbeard stalled, drawling the na out while his mind raced. No way was he giving up Edward's location. Edward might have made a mistake signing on with Bramah, but he was still… connected to Blackbeard's circle, in a way. You didn't sell out your own, not unless there was serious profit in it, and this didn't sll like profit.
"Can't say I recall the na," Blackbeard lied gruffly. "Lots o' sailors driftin' through the Caribbean. Nas get lost in the rum haze, ye understand."
Alaric's eyebrow arched slightly, and a knowing smirk played on his lips. "Co on now, Thatch. Don't play dumb with . You're not the forgetful sort, especially not when it cos to promising young lads."
Alaric took another slow drag from his cigar, the smoke seed to mock the tension on the deck. "Like I said, I'm not looking for trouble. Just trying to find my cousin. Family business, savvy?"
Blackbeard's short fuse finally ignited. He hated being played for a fool, and this Alaric was pushing all the wrong buttons with his casual disrespect and unnerving confidence.
"Family business, my arse!" he snarled, snapping his pistol back up, the barrel aid squarely at Alaric's chest. "Ye think ye can just leap aboard my ship, demand answers, and I'll just roll over like a trained dog? Ye've got more brass than brains, boy!"
A few of the crew chuckled nervously, their bravado returning slightly now that their captain seed ready to act. One pirate, a scrawny fellow with a nasty scar bisecting his face and wielding a rusty cutlass, decided he'd had enough talk.
"Cap'n, this fancy cove is wastin' valuable plunderin' ti!" the scarred pirate spat, hawking a glob onto the deck near Alaric's boots. "Let's just gut 'im and be done with it!"
Before Blackbeard could respond, the scarred pirate lunged, with his cutlass swinging for Alaric's ribs. It was a fast, vicious attack, clearly honed by experience. But Alaric? He barely seed to register it.
Faster than anyone could see, Alaric's left hand lashed out. Not a block, not a parry, but a simple, contemptuous backhand slap. It connected with the attacking pirate's jaw with a sickening CRACK that echoed across the deck like a gunshot. The man's head snapped back at an unnatural angle, his body going instantly limp as he crumpled like a discarded puppet. He hit the deck with a heavy thud with his eyes now vacant, and a trickle of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth.
Dead.
Just like that.
The crew froze… their weapons were still up but their nerve was gone. Blackbeard's pistol arm wavered, his eyes widened as he stared first at the lifeless body, then back at Alaric, who hadn't moved an inch from the railing. The damned cigar was still held casually in his right hand, glowing like nothing happened.
"Anyone else feeling impatient?" Alaric asked, his voice cool but with an edge that made your skin crawl. He slowly scanned the faces of the surrounding pirates, his gaze lingering on each one, an unspoken challenge in his eyes.
No one moved a muscle. No one breathed.
Blackbeard swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. He'd seen plenty of death, dished out his fair share too, but never like this. That wasn't just skill or strength, that was sothing… else. Sothing terrifyingly effortless.
Slowly, reluctantly, he lowered his pistol, not out of choice, but out of a sudden, chilling certainty that it wouldn't make a damned bit of difference.
"Alright, Kenway," Blackbeard managed, his voice rough but lacking its earlier bluster. "Ye've made yer point. Loud and clear." He cleared his throat. "But I told ye true. Ain't seen hide nor hair of Edward. Last I heard… he was sailin' sowhere south, maybe towards the Spanish Main. That's all I know, swear on beard." It was a lie, but a better one than flat-out denial.
Alaric held Blackbeard's gaze for a long, unnerving mont, those piercing blue eyes seeming to weigh the lie, judge its worth. Then, unexpectedly, he just shrugged, a flicker of amusent in his eyes.
"Fine, Thatch. If that's your story." He pushed himself off the railing. "Suppose I'll just have to find him myself, then."
He took one last puff from his cigar, flicked the smoldering butt over the side into the turquoise water, and gave Blackbeard a curt nod that felt more like a dismissal than a farewell. And with that, he simply leaped. Upwards, clearing the considerable height difference between the brig's deck and the galleon's railing in a single, impossibly graceful bound. He landed silently on the deck of La Providencia, right beside Kassandra, who greeted him with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smirk.
The pirates on the Sea Dog's Bite stared, dumbfounded, as he rejoined his companion. Blackbeard stood rooted to the spot, while his crew were still frozen around the corpse of their shipmate, the silence on deck was thick with fear and confusion.
"Cap'n?" one of his n finally whispered as his voice was trembling slightly. "What… what do we do now?"
Blackbeard didn't answer imdiately. He stared up at the towering galleon, at the spot where Alaric had been standing, and felt a cold dread settle deep in his gut.
Edward Kenway had a cousin… alright.
A cousin with skill unlike anything Blackbeard had ever encountered. And if this Alaric Kenway was loose in the Caribbean… the pirate captain had a very bad feeling that things were about to get a whole lot more complicated, and a whole lot more dangerous.
"Get that body off my deck," he finally growled, turning away from the galleon. "Hoist the colours! Man the sails! Let's get the hell away from this cursed ship!" He spat into the sea.
"And sobody fetch a bottle of rum. A large one."
As his crew scrambled to obey, trimming the sails and turning the brig away from the stationary galleon, Blackbeard cast one last uneasy glance back at La Providencia.
He didn't notice the faint shimr on the deck plank where Alaric had been standing monts before, an intricate pattern of ink glowing briefly before vanishing without a trace.
A Hiraishin marker was planted.
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